Unfinished Business

     Ghosts in the attic.  Mice in the basement.  The quiet realization that they're there, even as you try to ignore them, deny their existence, protect yourself from what they will make you feel and do.  That's how unfinished business can seem.  Things you have never allowed yourself to face and examine.  Jesus gives an answer to dealing with unfinished business. ...the truth will set you free.  (John 8:32).  

      Over the last several weeks, I have been listening to the podcast The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill.  You can listen to this very compelling series here.  In short, it is the story of a church's founding, ministry, success, and then, seemingly out of nowhere to some, its collapse.  It is very interesting and intriguing.  I found myself wanting to listen to the next episode to find out what happened!  If it was a book, I'd call it a page-turner.  If it was on TV, I'd say it kept me on the edge of my seat.  It was almost like a whodunnit novel.  Yet it was real.  People weren't wounded for the fun of it the way they are in fictional stories.  

     As I listened to the podcast, I was led through some of the inner workings of Mars Hill Church, revealing the unforeseen rottenness that many at the time were not aware of.  As a listener, I could see why this church was headed for disaster for a very long time before it became apparent...but what about those who were in the middle of it, too close to be objective, yet too far away to be aware of some of the inner corruption and turmoil?  This church's story affected many, and we get to hear their stories.  On a deeper level, it becomes a case study.  Many other people have had this story in their own churches and ministries.  I have been part of a similar story in my own life, with a different church.  This podcast examines the wounds that can happen in ministry, from corrupt leadership, and it was very validating and therapeutic.  

     I think people telling their stories is important.  Second Corinthians 1:4 says, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.  Some people try to silence those who share, accusing them of gossip, slander, and other things.  While we must be careful not to have that motive, it is also vital to be real about things, especially it it can help.  We can also use what we have learned to point out when we see something going wrong.  Galatians 6:1 reminds us, Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted.  This verse is essentially saying, "If you see something, say something."  

     Mars Hill came into existence in Seattle in 1996, and lasted 18 years, closing for good at the end of 2014.  Like many modern churches, it had a humble beginning, before it grew into a multi-site megachurch with thousands of members and over 10,000 weekly attendees.  Pastor Mark Driscoll was a strong, dynamic person, which was why the church was able to grow and thrive so quickly, and also, sadly, why everything he built fell apart.  Even at its end in late 2014, there were still thousands of members, very loyal to the church, giving faithfully.  Why couldn't it be saved?  You'll have to listen to the podcast for that.  I'm not going to focus specifically on Mark Driscoll in this post.  I am also not going to reiterate everything from the podcast.  For all of that info, I suggest you listen to it yourself.  It might resound with you too.  Here, I am going to interact with a story that is really about many other people who had nothing to do with Mars Hill Church itself, but lived through similar experiences.  

     Part of the reason I relate so strongly to this story is because my experience happened in the mid 90's, about the time Mars Hill Church was starting.  Mars Hill was part of the same culture, the same point in history, even the same part of the country I was from (West Coast).  My experience happened at a much smaller church, which my family attended from 1994-1996.  The name of this church was Canyon Hills.  At the time we joined Canyon Hills, our lifelong church had just fallen apart.  That first church, Corona Heights Baptist Church, was (and still is) the love of my life, church-wise.  That was where I had grown up, formed my faith and values, built true-blue friendships.  I felt safe and happy there.  Our small Christian school had been affiliated with it, and so, between church and school, I was with our close-knit church family all the time, making memories that will last forever.  Losing that, in and of itself, had been hard.  We had seen good friends move away.  We had stayed as long as we could, and fought for it, but to no avail.  That experience gave me this sense of trying to control things I have no power over--a habit I am still working on breaking with God's help.  At the time, we felt like spiritual refugees.  

My siblings and me (I'm the tall one on the left) in front of Corona Heights Baptist Church in its heyday.  This picture was used in our family Christmas cards in 1991.  I was in fourth grade here, and all was still well.  

     I was in junior high in 1994 when we lost Corona Heights Baptist Church, just hitting that age when acceptance means everything.  I had just lost all of my very closest friends.  I mean, I didn't lose them exactly (many of us stayed in touch with letters, and now keep in touch as adults), but our lives were no longer together.  They were in other places, making new friends.  I was very lonely.  And here we were, going to this new church that was just founded two years before we got there.  Canyon Hills met at a local elementary school.  The pastor, like Mark Driscoll, was dynamic and outgoing.  He could be very personable.  Having listened to the entire podcast, I will say that our pastor at Canyon Hills did not push the outlandish topics Mark Driscoll did, such as extreme teachings about sex or gender roles.  Our pastor's teaching was biblical, and none of it would be considered extreme or outside the norm for evangelical teaching.  The similarities were of a different sort, and will be illustrated.  

     I came to Canyon Hills a lonely but friendly adolescent.  I spent two years in the youth group (which included 7th-12th graders), never feeling for sure that I was enough.  I reached out, but never gave out of the deepest part of my heart.  That belonged first and forever to Corona Heights.  Canyon Hills was different too.  It catered to the "unchurched" rather than the "unsaved."  There is a subtle difference.  When you're reaching the unchurched, you are promoting church, trying to get these people in the doors, and that is an end in itself.  If you're reaching the unsaved (as Jesus commanded), you are preaching the gospel of Christ, and their salvation is the end goal.  At Canyon Hills, they were creating a church culture that would seem more attractive to the young suburban families of the 90's.  Long-time, solid Christian families like ours were the minority.  This meant that, while the gospel was definitely being preached, and people were definitely and genuinely saved, it was given a more positive slant.  The focus was on externals, such as what kind of people the church was aiming for.  I think it is better when churches focus on things all humans need and have in common, and then welcome everyone God brings.  Canyon Hills' leadership would have said they wanted to do that, but their focus was on a specific type, and we weren't it.  

     The youth group was led by an attractive couple in their early 30's.  The wife called the shots, and was buddy-buddy with all of the girls--except me.  One day, at a social function, she made a joke about my breasts in front of everyone, and I was stunned and humiliated.  It was one of those things where I was so shocked I didn't even respond right then.  It took a while to even register that she had said that.  Beyond my womanly figure, I was also considered to be too spiritual in the group.  I knew the Bible too well.  I was labeled as "the human Bible," and it wasn't said as a compliment (though I chose to take it that way). I was labeled as a "nerd" (another non-compliment I chose to take as one), and I began to think being smart was the only way I could win or have value.  My attempts to share my faith with newcomers were considered "shoving it down their throats," and I was rebuked and ridiculed by the teacher.  To this day, I hate the expression "shove it down their throat," and I cringe when I hear it used.  Jesus never warned anyone to avoid shoving it down people's throat!   He commanded us to preach the gospel!  That's what I had grown up being taught to do, both in my home and in my former church.  The way I was was considered "normal" in places I had previously been, and now, I was being shamed for it.  One Sunday, our lesson was about how we shouldn't "judge" Mormons, and that Mormonism was the same as Christianity.  I know the pastor didn't believe this.  He had no idea this was what the youth leaders were teaching us, but the thing was, they didn't know the Word well enough to be in a leadership position, and that was his responsibility.  It was part of the culture he created.  I was told years later that one of my classmates from that group dabbled in Mormonism, and her family held our teacher responsible for putting that in her mind.  

     The girls in the youth group were very mean and cliquish.  I remember one time, I gave a girl a card on her birthday.  She and the others around her just laughed at me, and the girl just threw it away without opening it.  Another time, I went on a girls outing, and no one would talk to me the whole time.  One of these girls eventually had a change of heart and wrote me an apology letter, and we had a positive relationship after that.  The longer I live, the most impressed I am that someone that young could have the integrity to acknowledge her wrong and make it right.  That showed a lot of maturity on her part, and I respect her for it.  I have seen very few adults make that mature of an amends.  

     It wasn't all bad.  I was very popular as a babysitter for the families in the church.  The boys in the youth group were my friends.  One particular boy was very sweet, and I consider him my first boyfriend.  At our Christmas formal, he told me I was "very beautiful" and I thought I'd melt!  We were young, and couldn't go anywhere, so we didn't officially date, but we liked each other and hung out together all the time.  I used to fantasize about him proposing to me (I am sure that marriage was the furthest thing from this young teenage boy's mind!). 

     The summer of 1996, I was going into my freshman year of high school.  I worked in Vacation Bible School.  I was helping Mr. Johnson, the first-and-second-grade teacher.  I must add that my boyfriend was in the group with us.  He was helping in VBS, and wanted to work in the same class as me.  At first, I thought that was very romantic, but by the end of that week, I was at a very different place about many things in my life, including what I wanted in a future husband.  Mr. Johnson asked me to do a little talk every day after his lesson.  That first day, I stood up before those innocent children, and something happened in me, in that room, in the world.  The Holy Spirit lit a fire I cannot explain.  I opened my mouth, and this power came over me.  The gospel poured forth from me effortlessly.  As I explained Christ's death and resurrection, the children's eyes lit up with understanding.  That week, I was able to see 24 children receive Christ as their Savior.  It wasn't me.  It was all God, and I was honored and excited that He used me.  I knew then that I was called to something more.  More than anything I had ever imagined.  I was excited about God using me.  I had that joy that can only come from touching eternity.  Something from beyond this life took up residence inside of me.  

     That time was not without its battle wounds.  Both the pastor and the children's ministry director disliked my evangelism.  I'm not sure why, but I think I was acting outside of the structure they wanted to see--adults teaching, and teenagers being helpful but quiet.  I think they saw what I was doing as a liability.  I found out later that the pastor had asked Mr. Johnson to stop letting me share with the class, but Mr. Johnson felt God was using me, and he didn't stop me.  At the end of that week, Mr. Johnson wrote me the kindest note I have ever received, and I still have it today.  Mr. Johnson passed away in 2012, and shortly before he did, he called me, and again thanked me for sharing Jesus in that VBS 16 years earlier.  It was very sweet, and I cherish the memory of that phone call.  

     Shortly after that VBS, the pastor told my father that our family was no longer welcome to come to the church.  He claimed we weren't on the same page as him.  There were a few issues that had arisen, but one of them was my actions at VBS.  The pastor spoke against me to my dad, saying I was too "different" to ever fit in at that church or with what they were doing.  

     The pastor didn't tell anyone he kicked us out, and the next Sunday, people were surprised my family wasn't there to do their usual ministries (my mom taught children's church and my dad taught an adult Bible study).  The pastor said he didn't know why we weren't there, and made us look like we had flaked out.  This led to us receiving calls from confused church members.  It was hard for my parents to know what to tell them.  Many of them were eventually kicked out as well, for crossing the leadership in different ways.  I was told by someone who left after us that the pastor's right-hand man told them, "God isn't going to be able to bless you anymore."  Wow.  I was not a first-hand witness to that, but that was what I was told, and it is terrible.  To my knowledge, though, my family was the first domino to fall, and had no frame of reference for it.  Almost a year later, I was visiting a church member, and saw the latest church directory by their home phone.  It was dated just a month earlier.  Out of curiosity, I thumbed through, and discovered that my family was still listed in it!  Way to beef up membership to look impressive for having more people than you actually do!  I thought keeping us in there was pretty nervy, since we had been summarily kicked out.  By that time, we were members of another church, which I'll share about in a minute.  

     So, here I was, a high school freshman, having just found my purpose and calling, having just experienced the joy some live a whole lifetime and never find, and yet totally rejected by people I thought I could trust.  I had no words for what had happened.  Getting kicked out of a church by a pastor FOR EVANGELISM was completely unprecedented to me.  I was completely shaken up.  I went into a very deep depression, and even contemplated suicide.  A pastor represents God to a lot of people, and to have a pastor and church reject me made me feel like God had rejected me.  I felt like I wasn't good enough to be around other Christians.  I retreated very deeply within.  I can't even imagine how much worse it would be if I had been told that God couldn't bless me anymore.  

     God was so faithful to me.  He led me onward.  He led my family to a good little church.  This church was the polar opposite of Canyon Hills.  It was founded in 1927 (we celebrated the 70th anniversary of the church about six months after we started going there).  They were simple, with the old hymns and a pastor who preached out of the King James Bible.  I hasten to add that I do not think that old hymns and the King James Bible exclusively are a must (the Bible is a must, but I am not KJV only) but these older things were the trappings of a place God used to heal us, and they are special to me now because of that.  The pastor was an old-fashioned soul-winner who gave alter calls after every message.  I was accepted and able to plug in, but I never really opened up or trusted anyone again for many, many years.  I struggled with panic attacks.  My fears, insecurities, and ghosts from Canyon Hills never left.  They became the "ghosts" in the attic, so to speak.  My unfinished business.  

     I had no idea that, around that same time, at a church in Seattle, similar things were starting to take place.  Over Mars Hills' 18 years, Pastor Mark Driscoll treated people similarly to the way my family was treated.  He kicked people out who dared to get in his way or do things differently than the way he wanted them to be done.  He shamed and condemned people.  He urged his congregation to shun those who were kicked out.  He was manipulative.  He told one pastoral staff who quit that if he tried to start another ministry in the same area, he would come over and tear it down, brick by brick.  Hearts were broken.  Lives were left in confusion.  Fellowship was lost.  

     Why do people stick around so long where so much hurt and dysfunction are going on?  There isn't a simple answer to that, but often, it is because people pour their hearts and souls into these churches, giving their everything to them...and sometimes, these churches give people their everything too.  It's hard to walk away from that.  It's impossible to forget.   Sometimes, it starts out wonderfully, and slowly starts showing signs of being unhealthy.  When we start to become aware of the problems, we think of the good times, and are hesitant to accept that there really is something truly bad happening.  It is easy to believe that you're one conversation away from getting things back to the way they used to be.  No one wants to be a quitter.  There were good moment in all of these churches.  Many people made true decisions for Christ at Mars Hill, and at Canyon Hills.  Many people had happy stories of victory in these places, and it is no one's intention to take that away from them.  The good was there.  If it wasn't, we would never go to such places to begin with.  

     Even my "love of my life" church, Corona Heights Baptist, had its issues.  I have very happy childhood memories there.  Some other friends of mine, though, experienced it quite differently.  God truly delivered them out of it, and led them to a place that was a better fit for them.  I completely believe and acknowledge that their bad experiences happened there, and they completely believe and acknowledge my good experiences happened there.  We're real about it all.  And that's the way I want to be about Canyon Hills, and everything else.  Some people had truly beautiful, life-changing, eternity-touching experiences there, and it was very real.  The pastor did accomplish good.  So did Mark Driscoll.  My goal here is not to bad-mouth people.  I know that isn't the goal of the podcast either.  It's to speak the truth.  

Me happily receiving an AWANA award at Corona Heights Baptist Church in its prime. I am surrounded by good friends and teachers who loved and invested in me.  I didn't have an insecurity in the world when this picture was snapped in 1990.  It was perfect for me, but not for everyone, and that is okay.

     I didn't receive healing in my life from my own experience until I was in my late 20's.  I spent about fifteen years having silent panic attacks in my closet.  In self-loathing, right after I graduated from Bible college Summa Cum Laude, gave a great speech as salutatorian, and was showered with love, I had a panic attack that lasted three days.  This was because the shame from my past told me I didn't deserve this honor.  No one who got kicked out of churches deserved this honor, I thought.  I even physically hurt myself.  I know it broke God's heart for me to feel ashamed of the honor I had worked hard for.  

     A scripture that started to bring healing to the deepest part of my heart was where Jesus spoke to His disciples at the Last Supper.  I have said all these things to you to keep you from falling away. They will put you out of the synagogues. Indeed, the hour is coming when whoever kills you will think he is offering service to God. And they will do these things because they have not known the Father, nor me. But I have said these things to you, that when their hour comes you may remember that I told them to you.  (John 16:1-4).  Jesus wasn't warning His disciples about the pagan Roman Empire (which would surely persecute them), but about those who claimed to know and speak for God.  I believe this speaks to those of us wounded by fellow believers.  Sometimes, these people don't know God at all.  Other times, they are true believers simply acting apart from His will.  In talking about this recently with a friend of mine, she also brought up Psalm 55:12-14, If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were rising against me, I could hide.  But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship at the house of God, as we walked about among the worshipers.  This is a biblical basis to validate that these things do happen.  

     As that fourteen-year-old, I had already lost one church I loved.  This time, I lost a sense of community, a sense of self, and even the boy I thought I was falling in love with.  I could dramatize and romanticize it by saying I lost these things for the sake of the gospel.  In a sense, that is true enough, but it wasn't that clear-cut or simple at the time.  Nobody said to me, "Give up this gospel message and you'll be accepted and get the guy, or continue sharing the gospel and lose it all."  I believe, had I been given that choice, I would have chosen the gospel.  But I wasn't even given that.  I didn't bravely choose Christ over the life I had, which is why I don't see myself as particularly heroic.  I just faced a very unexpected consequence for the stand I took.  It led to years of doubt and struggle.  Even now, I have a heightened sense of feeling unsafe in certain situations.  A lot of times, I have insight that is valid.  Other times, I am being distrustful and overreacting.  

     I definitely feel I lost that sense of being a normal Christian teenager of the 90's.  While kids around me were rocking out to DC Talk's Jesus Freak, thinking it was such a deep message, I wanted to scream and plug my ears, annoyed that their version of persecution was being called a name.  I would have loved to have simply been teased and called a Jesus Freak, as opposed to losing so much that was important to me.  I had already been labeled as The Human Bible and a nerd.  What was one more name?  This many years later, I acknowledge that the song did have a good message.  I just wasn't their target audience.  There weren't a lot of songs or resources out there for fourteen-year-olds who got kicked out of churches for sharing the gospel with second graders in VBS.  Even saying that today sounds crazy.  That's why this podcast resounded with me.  Finally, there is something for me.  Someone else can relate to me, in some way.  Craziness happens in church.  Hurts happen in church.  It isn't supposed to be that way, but it is sometimes.  

     What about these hard and hurtful situations?  What do we do about the ghosts in our attics?  People from Mars Hill report to still having panic attacks about it.  Some former members interviewed couldn't talk about it without crying.  One parson said, "It's not something you ever get over."  Some have become unable to bring themselves to attend any church at all.  This choice and reaction is on them, but the blame for the damage heaped on them lies with the leadership.  Here is a takeaway brought out by the podcast.  Our faith often becomes a culture that can turn toxic.  We must separate the pure truth of the gospel from that culture.  Western evangelicalism is not always the same as biblical Christianity.  It is a culture unto itself, and must be watched carefully.  We need to constantly examine.  Lamentations 3:40 says, Let us examine our ways and test them, and let us return to the LORD.  

     Here is another question--some food for thought.  What was the Good News at Mars Hill, at Canyon Hills, and at many similar churches?  What is the Good News at your church today?  Is it the good news that Jesus Christ died for our sins, rising again, conquering sin and death for all time, and now offers salvation to all who will believe?  Or is the good being preached a gospel of how great and accepting the church is, or how "relevant" the messages are?  Is the heartfelt prayer of that church the prayer of the self-righteous Pharisee or the repentant tax-collector (See Luke 18:9-14)?    These are things to look and and keep in mind.  

     Why do I share any of this?  This is the first time I have shared this part of my story in this much detail.  Some would call this examination of Mars Hill's rise and fall to be timely as things like this continue to happen.  And yet to me, it came twenty-five years too late.  Better late than never, I suppose.  I think of many people, whose stories will never be told, but who can find identity with it.  I wish I could travel back in time to that high school freshmen who was dying from her depression, and tell her she isn't alone.  

I have so few pictures from my teen years, since I struggled so much with what happened, but this is one of the rare photos I have from that time.  I'm not sure why it is in black-and-white.  I remember having it in color at one point.  This is mid-90's teenage Janelle.

     Back to my original question, what about those ghosts in the attic?  That unfinished business?  Sometimes, it sadly must remain just that.  We can face it for what it is.  Sometimes, there really is healing and restoration through leadership acknowledging their mistakes and sins and making it right.  Other times, all we can do is release it to God.  I will point out that, many years after the fact, the pastor from Canyon Hills Church ran into my father at a store, and they were able to go sit down and talk about what had happened.  The pastor apologized and acknowledged that he had sinned against us.  My dad accepted his apology.  This pastor spent the rest of his life serving the Lord, before succumbing to cancer in 2014.  Canyon Hills as a church had ceased to exist long before, and I don't know the specifics.  I have worked through the darkness, and have forgiven.  I am not mad at anyone, but I am also not the same person I was before the summer of 1996.  I am not so trustful.  I am very choosey about pastors, and spiritual leaders.  I am slow to believe.  My trust must be earned.  I am also slower to bond with others.  I'm friendly, but not as open-hearted as I was before any of this happened.  I am also very quick to weigh what I am told, and not to blindly follow leaders.  I respectfully question authority figures if something they say doesn't seem right.  Some leaders accept this.  Others find this threatening (which probably means they are up to no good).  

     I will close with the story of a young man named Benjamin Petry, age 21 as of this writing.  He was seven years old in 2007, when his family was kicked out of Mars Hill.  His father and another man in leadership had crossed Mark Driscoll.  This had spiritually wounded and damaged his family.  He was young, but was still very aware of the effect this had on his family.  After Mars Hill died, Mark Driscoll started a new church in Arizona.  This year, that church had their 5th anniversary.  Benjamin Petry decided to fly down to Arizona to attend.  He was facing the ghosts of his family's past.  He didn't go with any expectation.  

          After the service, Benjamin met up with Mark Driscoll in the foyer, and engaged him in conversation.  When Pastor Mark realized who he was, he got awkward.  Benjamin very politely but boldly said he believed his dad had been wrongly treated by Mark, and encouraged Mark to reach out to his dad and apologize to him.  Pastor Mark just said, "Well, your dad's a great guy, but he's got these things..."  Benjamin persisted that he would give Mark his dad's number if he needed it, but urged him to reach out.  He was trying to facilitate reconciliation.  Pastor Mark ended up brushing him off.  Benjamin faced the ghosts in his family's attic.  Despite that Mark Driscoll did not accept what he was trying to do, I consider Benjamin the victor.  He was brave where Mark was weak.  He can move on with his life, as we all can when we face what has happened to us, made right what we can, and moved forward in God's strength.  You can read the entirety of Benjamin Petry's account here.  He gives a lot of insight into the experience that I didn't have time for here.  

     Face your past.  In Jesus, it has no power over you.  Move on in the victory Jesus gave you.  Don't give up on God, faith, or church.  Find a safe, encouraging place where God's word is taught in love and truth.  It's okay.  You are not alone.